


Go Big or Go Home

by thisprentiss



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Big Bang Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisprentiss/pseuds/thisprentiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officer Bard Bowman wasn't interested in any trouble when he went to pick up Thranduil Opherion for questioning. But somehow he ended up in a truck on the run from a mob-boss and the cops alike, wondering why he deserves this (and why this criminal is so attractive).</p>
<p>modern au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Big or Go Home

**Author's Note:**

> so this was written for the barduil bang 2015, hope it's alright.... art was done by the spectacular sunlitlake on tumblr, (once I figure out how to link I'll do that)  
> it was super fun to work on, thanks so much! And if it doesn't make any sense, I'm super sorry, I sort of rushed to finish it......

A deep chuckle rumbled in the throat of a bearded man at a desk. His fingers were touching at the tips, elbows leaned on the mahogany surface as he regarded the key in front of him. It was large - about the size of his palm - and crafted from pure gold. Of course the man knew that was excessive, making the key to his personal safe out of gold, but when one had as much money as he did people tended to spend it in lavish ways.

Running a finger over his dark mustache, Thorin Oakenshield allowed his eyes to flit over to a photograph taped into a locket. He had taken off said locket when he sat down at his desk, and didn't realize until now that he had forgotten to close it after looking inside.

A smile spread on his face as he stared at the photo, remembering the day he took that photo, as well as the smiling figure in it. Thorin brought a hand down to pick up the locket, smile fading as he recalled how long it had been since he had seen the man in the photograph. Near to a year now, since he had held him in his arms, since he had listened to his laugh.

Shaking his head, Thorin closed the locket and threw it down in the drawer of his desk, turning away and taking a deep breath. Now was not the time to think about these things.

A knock on the door of his office brought Thorin out of his thoughts, turning his head to see who it was. Peering through the crack in the opened door was his nephew Kili.

"What is it, Kili?" Thorin demanded as the young man entered the room.

"Uncle, there's an unidentified vehicle outside the estate. Nobody's in it or anything, but Dwalin saw it from his rifle and called me to tell you about it," Kili explained, wringing his hands in front of his body. Thorin waved a hand at the young man's nervous tick.

"Stop that. It's unbecoming," he ordered, and his nephew wrenched his hands down to his sides, picking at the edges of his shirt. "Do we have a clear description of the vehicle?" Thorin continued, and Kili shook his head, tapping the walkie talkie strapped to his side.

"Waiting on that at the moment, uncle," he stated, and Thorin sat back in his chair, running a hand over his beard once again. "You seem a little worried, if it's not rude to observe."

In a low voice, Thorin grumbled, "I am not worried, Kili."

He was worried, though. With the new police station so close to their estates he'd been pacing himself into a tizzy worrying about whether or not there would be officers at their door the next moment. If their operations were to be revealed…

"Uncle?"

Kili's voice broke Thorin out of his thoughts, and the bearded man looked up from where he had been staring blankly. "Hm?" he responded, and Kili began playing with his hands again.

"I got a call last night," his nephew began, eyes sparkling with hope and slight terror.

"Is this really the time to be telling me this?" Thorin sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and Kili shrank back slightly.

"Well… you know, since we're waiting on the description and everything… I mean I barely get any chances to talk to you…" the young man trailed off, and Thorin waved his hand for him to go on. "It was from- okay please don't get mad."

"Tell me who it was from, Kili. The only thing I'll get mad about is if you don't start talking now," he said, and Kili nodded rapidly, twisting his hands in front of his body. "Stop that instantly and speak."

Kili, putting his hands in his pockets, bit his lower lip. "As I was saying… I got a call last night… uncle it was Tauriel," he muttered, and Thorin fought back the urge to slam his fist down on the desk in anger.

He took a deep breath, mouth twitching downward into a scowl, as he prepared to lecture Kili on why he couldn't be with this woman.

But he never got the chance.

Dwalin's voice crackled over Kili's walkie talkie the next second, interrupting the rant Thorin was about to spew. "Laddie," the gruff man said, and Kili almost sighed in relief, pulling the device up to his mouth.

"Tell me something I wanna hear, Dwalin," he answered, and Dwalin huffed in response. Thorin sat forward on his desk, waiting for what his friend had to say.

"Vehicle's a pickup truck," he stated, and Thorin furrowed his brow, "Brown, pretty old looking. I'd say it's from maybe… eh, the eighties. Big ass tires, look like they're for offroading. Somethin' hanging off the rear view mirror and… hang on… Ori what did you just say?"

Kili looked over at his uncle, concern written on his face. They could hear the gentle voice of Ori saying something incomprehensible to Dwalin on the other line, and Kili bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "Ori says there's a kid in the passenger's seat. His vantage is better, I can't see anything. What's that?"

There was another pause where Ori detailed something else to Dwalin through another walkie talkie, before the gruff voice returned to their line. "Says it's a white kid, eight or nine years old. Blonde hair," Dwalin told them, and Thorin clasped his hands together on his desk.

"Is there anyone else in the vehicle?" he demanded, and Dwalin made a clicking sound with his tongue.

"Doesn't appear so… no, Ori says the kid's the only one," he responded. Thorin narrowed his eyes. "I know what you're thinking, Thorin. Driver's probably somewhere else on the property."

"Most likely, yes. Dwalin, set up a perimeter around the mansion. I don't want anybody leaving the building."

"Aye, sir," came the security guard's response, before the line was cut off, leaving tense static hanging in the air. Kili looked back up at Thorin, obviously expecting to be snapped at. But his uncle said nothing, instead standing and stuffing the key to his personal vault in the pocket of his coat.

"We will discuss the situation with Tauriel later," he growled, swiftly leaving the room and storming down the hallway. He was headed for a file room, a room far at the back of the halls, to look something up. Something that definitely had to do with the brown pickup truck on his property.

A figure dashed out of the kitchen doors as Thorin passed by, crashing into him and sending the man toppling to the ground. "Oh I am so sorry, Mr. Oakenshield!" the person exclaimed in a high voice. Thorin growled as he was helped to his feet, rolling his eyes as the figure who had knocked him over patted him down to make sure he was okay. "I shouldn't run, I'm so sorry. Please don't kill my family."

"I'm not going to kill your family, boy, leave me be," Thorin snapped, and the tall blonde servant nodded rapidly, ducking away from the man and speed walking down the hall. Nervous wreck… wouldn't do well under pressure. I'll need to fire him, Thorin observed in his mind, continuing down the hallway to his intended destination.

He rounded a corner and pushed open an old wooden door, flipping on the lights and stalking over to a table pushed against the wall. He plugged in the desk lamp, slapping the bulb with his hand when it didn't turn on immediately, and skimmed over the files in the nearest shelf. "Aha," he muttered as his fingers brushed over the one he was looking for.

Thorin pulled it down and slammed it open on the table, flipping through the yellowing pages until he found a photograph paperclipped to the page. It was a brown pickup truck with large tires and a necklace of sea shells hanging from the rear view mirror.

"I knew it," Thorin growled, turning off the desk lamp and storming out of the room, not bothering to put the file back on the shelf. He pulled the door shut and all but ran back toward his office, back toward his vault. If that bastard is trying what I think he's trying…

He slid to a stop in front of his usually locked office door and immediately noticed scratches around the keyhole. His heart began to pound.

Thorin tried the doorknob; it was open.

He yanked the door open and looked around the office, shocked that it was empty of any people. The man narrowed his eyes and walked toward a painting on the wall, removing it gingerly and placing it on the ground. In a hole in the wall sat a steel safe, only able to be opened by the key in Thorin's pocket…

The key that was supposed to be in Thorin's pocket.

"What the hell!?" he shouted, eyes going wide as he felt over his suit. How could I have lost it!? He screamed in his mind, I couldn't have lost it! But really, he realized as he stared at the safe, it didn't matter whether or not he had lost it.

Because the door was already open.

"No!" Thorin bellowed, tearing into the now empty safe. Everything was gone. It was all gone. The extra money, the key, the gems, everything was gone. The man whirled around, red in the face, and dashed out of his office. "KILI!" he nearly screamed, finding his nephew standing by the front door. The young man turned slightly, eyes wide.

"Uncle?" he asked in concern.

"Tell Dwalin to fire at the pickup, effective immediately!" he snapped, and Kili stifled a gasp. "Is there a problem with that, nephew!?"

"Uncle, there's a little kid in that truck…" Kili tried to say, but Thorin snarled at him. "I'll tell Dwalin." He pulled the walkie talkie from his belt to his mouth, but before he could talk, Dwalin's voice came over the speaker.

"Laddies," he began, and Thorin couldn't help but hear the appalled tone in his voice, "The bloke you're looking for is taking down our entire perimeter. I don't have a clear shot... but holy shit, he's gotta be a black belt or something that was a nice kick!"

Thorin snatched the walkie talkie away from Kili and flung open the front door, glaring out at the land in front of him. "Do something about it, Dwalin!" he shouted.

"I'm in range now, but... really I wouldn't be surprised if he dodged my damned bullets, Thorin," his voice said, and Thorin growled.

"Do something! Shoot him! Shoot the truck! Don't just sit there!"

"Alright, alright. I'll try," he sighed, and the call was ended. Thorin heard nothing for a moment, before the sounds of Dwalin opening fire with his sniper rifle filled his ears. No way you can get away from that.

The gunfire ceased, and Thorin let a smile quirk at the edges of his lips. That is, until Dwalin's voice came back over the speaker. "You're not going to believe this," he began, and Thorin gritted his teeth.

"Tell me you didn't let him get away," he hissed, and Dwalin sighed.

"Wish I could. Caught him in the arm, that's the only shot I managed to land. Thorin, the truck just left on the east road," he responded, and Thorin slammed a fist against one of the marble pillars framing his doorway. "Shouldn't be that hard to track him, though. Truck ain't exactly a real common make anymore. Should I grab Bofur from the bar? Take this son of a bitch down?"

Thorin stormed back inside the mansion, loosening his tie around his neck. "Get Dori and Fili too. If I know this man I know what he's capable of, and you'll need more than just Bofur to take him down," he growled, and Dwalin clicked his tongue.

"Will do, boss. I'll call you when I've got Bofur," he responded, and the walkie talkie's speaker emitted only static from there on out.

Kili approached his uncle's side. "Any chance you could tell me who you think this is? Or do you not know?" he asked curiously, but Thorin didn't look at him.

"It doesn't matter to you. I just want him dead."

* * *

 "Of course, Sigrid, of course! Have as many people over as you want!" laughed a dark haired man into his cell phone. He paused mid-laugh, however, putting a finger to his lips. "Wait, no. Not as many as you want, but a small party is fine. Yes, as long as you're responsible."

"Bowman!" shouted a voice from down the hall. The man, Bard Bowman, turned to see who was calling his name. Standing in the doorway of his boss' office was Alfrid, the obnoxious right hand man. He pointed into the office and tapped his wrist, signaling that Bard was needed. The police officer held up a finger and went back to his phone call.

"Sounds excellent, darling, but I have to go," he continued, hearing Alfrid shouting for him. Bard moved the phone away from his ear and looked over his shoulder. "I'm coming, Alfrid, give me two seconds!" he put the device back to his ear and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sigrid, I'll see you tonight. Don't be too crazy, don't trash the house. Love you, bye."

"Bowman, hurry your ass up!" Alfrid all but screeched as Bard set his phone down on the desk. "We don't have all day, this isn't a damned nursing home, walk faster!"

Bard, rolling his eyes, jogged down the hall to where Alfrid stood, allowing himself to be shoved into the office. He stumbled forward, coming to a halt in front of the Master's desk, straightening his tie a bit as the heavyset man cleared his throat. Before he had a chance to speak, however, Bard jumped forward.

"Listen, it wasn't me. Percy thought it would be funny," he stated, earning a strange look from the Master. "I mean... unless you're referring to the microwave thing. That was me."

The Master straightened out a pencil on his desk, folding his hands and pursing his lips. "That isn't what I called you in here for, Bard," he responded, and Bard closed his mouth, nodding to himself. "We'll discuss the incident with the microwave later. Right now I need you to do somethin' for me."

Bard let out a long groan, tilting his head back and slouching his shoulders. Alfrid rolled his eyes as the other man held out the groan for as long as he could, ignoring the Master's attempts at cutting him off.

When he'd finally run out of breath, he looked back down at the large man behind the desk. "What do you want in your coffee this time, oh master of mine?" he sighed, inspecting his nails. The Master narrowed his eyes, shoving a folder forward in his direction.

"If you would behave yourself for a minute, Officer Bowman!" he snapped, and Bard nodded again, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left. "Are you familiar with the name Elrond Undomiel?"

Shrugging, Bard put his hands on his hips. "Yeah, I guess. Sounds familiar. What did he do?"

"He didn't do anything. He was robbed. Along with thirty other high powered billionaires across the country over the past few years," Alfrid spat as though that were the most obvious thing in the world. The annoyed officer sighed, scratching his temple with his middle finger. The Master nodded, agreeing with his assistant.

"So what? You want me to go do the normal checkup? Get a description and all that? Ask about witnesses?" Bard asked, raising an eyebrow.

Before the Master could answer, Alfrid stepped forward, sneering pointedly. "We already have a description, Bowman."

"Well excellent," Bard smiled, clapping his hands together, "You don't need me then. I'll head back to my desk. Have a lovely day, sir."

As he tried to leave the room, Alfrid put a hand on his chest, shoving him back toward the Master. "No, Bard. We want ya to go and collect the witness to the crime. Undomiel gave us the name," he explained, and Bard furrowed his brow.

"Why are we even working this case? Doesn't the Undomiel family live in like... Wisconsin? This is California," Bard stated, looping his thumbs through his black belt. Alfrid narrowed his eyes, giving the officer a hard push to the shoulder. "Okay, back off buddy."

"The witness lives near where we are, The Dell's PD dropped us the case," the Master continued, folding his hands on his lap. "You won't have any trouble, right? Remember, this is your paycheck on the line."

Bard sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine, whatever. Alfrid I swear to god do not touch me. Who is the guy and where can I find him?"

"His name is Thranduil Opherion," began the man behind the desk, "Undomiel said the fellow saw a man leaving his house through a window. Never came forward to the cops about it though."

"What even got stolen? I mean the dude's loaded, why is he so pissed about this?" Bard interrupted, rolling his eyes. The Master glared.

"Undomiel was robbed of a silver candlestick and nearly a thousand dollars worth of pearl necklaces," he spat back, and Bard snorted, arms crossed.

"Damn, I'd be pretty pissed too," he chuckled, but (unsurprisingly) Alfrid and the Master were not amused.

"Here's the address. Just pick him up. Unless that's too difficult for your tiny brain to process," spat the unibrowed assistant, slamming a pink sticky note down on the Master's desk.

Sneering, Bard snatched the address written and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. "Yeah I'll pick him up... just like I picked up your wife last night..." he muttered as he left the room. Alfrid began shouting angry profanities at him, and Bard booked it out the door to his car.

* * *

 Bard had been grumbling for the past twenty minutes, grouchily tapping his hand on the steering wheel as Taylor Swift played from the radio. Of course I had to be the one to pick up the damn witness, didn't I? Fucking typical...

Still, he'd heard about Thranduil Opherion before, and the man seemed interesting enough. Bard could distinctly remember him being involved in a case about an enormous house fire, though he wasn't certain if it was Opherion who they suspected for foul play. Either way, he was going to his house at the moment, and he wasn't entirely happy about it.

Rich folk always annoyed Bard to no extent. It may have been because he had never been very well off through his life, or perhaps because of the Master and Alfrid living in posh conditions while they scammed him off with lame paychecks, but he never could stand rich people.

Which is why he wasn't exactly thrilled to be picking up the billionaire for questioning.

Jesus lord why does he live so far out of town? Bard sighed to himself as he watched yet another street sign zoom past him on the long empty road, and his thoughts began to drift to his children. Sigrid's throwing a party tonight, isn't she? He recalled with mild horror, I wonder if I'll be back in time to supervise...

Bard glanced out the window of his black car, tapping his finger aimlessly as the wind blew his hair about his face. The GPS in the passenger's seat gave him another direction, and he turned down the designated road with a deep sigh. "Okay... shouldn't be too hard to find. Huge ass mansion in the middle of fucking nowhere..."

As he trailed off his sentence, however, Bard slammed on the brakes, coming to a screeching stop in front of a fallen street sign. "Jesus!" he breathed, heart pounding. The police officer straightened his black tie and pulled around the obstacle, continuing onward down the dirt road. He didn't know why this back road was so deserted and destroyed; that had to have been the fifth fallen sign he'd seen.

Either way, Bard finally found the address he was looking for, and he was incredibly shocked when he pulled to a stop in front of the witness' house. Oh my fucking...

It was enormous. Absolutely fucking enormous. Bard's mouth fell slightly open as he climbed out of his car and stared at the mansion. It was white, first of all, with towering windows and pillars lining the doorway, making it stand out from the large dark trees in the nearby area. Parked close to the side of the house, not visible unless you leaned toward the trees, was a brown pickup truck with a necklace of what looked like seashells hanging off the rear view mirror. Weirdly out of place...

As he got closer, Bard noticed that the mansion had probably seen better days, dirt streaking the once polished exterior, trees sagging down onto the roof.

Its still impressive... the officer observed in his head, nodding vaguely and jogging up the steps toward the door. Inside, something by Beyonce could be heard blaring, and there was very loud shouting from both male and female voices. Bard glanced around briefly and rested his left hand on his gun in his holster, ringing the doorbell with the other.

The music and the yelling stopped, and the entire house seemed to fall silent. Bard tapped his foot a bit impatiently, raising an eyebrow when the door was opened by a very young child. "Um... hello?" Bard greeted, waving a bit, and the child stared up at him, blue eyes far too sarcastic for his age.

"Can I help you?" he asked, and Bard squatted down to talk at eye level, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Is this Thran- Thr- sorry, I have no idea if I'm pronouncing that right. Thranduil Ophe- Opherion?" Bard asked, and the child rolled his eyes, sighing slightly.

"Thranduil Opherion," he corrected, and Bard gave him a sheepish smile. "Yeah, you're at the right place. Are you a cop?"

"Yes, I am. Do you live here?" asked the officer, and the boy raised one eyebrow, nodding slowly. "Is Mr. Opherion your father?" Another nod. Bard took that into consideration. Didn't know this guy had a kid... The boy looked around Tilda's age, probably six or seven, with ruler straight blonde hair that just barely touched his shoulders. He had an aggressive aura about him, one which made Bard very uncomfortable, for that matter. "I'm sorry, is your father home?"

"Nope. Sorry. Come back another time," the boy stated in an almost rehearsed manner. Bard narrowed his eyes as the child in the doorway turned to leave so he could close the door. On a table near the far wall was a candlestick... a silver candlestick with two pearl necklaces hanging off the base.

"Hang on a second," Bard snapped, standing upright and putting a hand on the door to keep it from closing. The boy glared at him and tried to shove the door shut, but Bard pushed past him and walked into the foyer of the mansion.

"Hey!" the boy shouted, slamming the door and running up to the tall police officer. "You can't do that! I told you he wasn't here!"

Bard looked down at the child, pointing at the candlestick on the table. "Where did that come from?" he asked, perhaps a bit too harshly. The boy shook his head, looking around.

"I- It's a family heirloom. My ada isn't here. Get out," he half-demanded, voice raising in pitch. When Bard didn't move, the boy clenched his fists at his sides. "Go away! Why are you even here in the first place!?"

"I was here to ask your dad a few simple questions. But I think I might have more to ask than I thought," Bard stated, glaring at the child for a moment. Don't do that... he chastised himself, he's just a kid. He's only doing what he's been taught. "Where's your father?"

A loud string of curses echoed around the mansion from one of the rooms upstairs, and Bard glanced up to where they came from. He looked back at the child, who was staring at him with wide eyes, and then looked back at the staircase, dashing up as fast as he could. Bard could hear the kid yelling at him to stop, but he was already at the top of the stairs.

"Thranduil Opherion?" he called, glancing in several of the open rooms. Fucking massive... he thought to himself, taking vague note of the high ceilings and large beds. "Thranduil Opherion, this is the police. I have a few simple questions for you, and this could all be cleared up real fast if you explain a couple of things to me and stop acting so suspicious."

The child that had answered the door seemed to have decided it was a better idea to stay downstairs, for reasons Bard didn't know, but he was grateful that he didn't have a little kid shouting at him at the moment. A small noise from one of the rooms caught Bard's attention, and he pushed the ajar door open, walking inside.

His hand rested on his gun as he moved slowly through the brightly lit bedroom, inching toward the source of the noise, which seemed to be in the closet. Bard nearly tripped on the clothes and other objects strewn across the room, noticing some incredibly random and expensive looking objects on shelves and in open drawers. Okay... that's weird.

Bard came to the closet, seeing that the door had been replaced with hanging beads, and knocked on the wall next to the doorway. "Thranduil Opherion?" he asked, voice steadily losing confidence as he realized the man could be armed. Bard gulped and tried again when he received no response. "Th- Thranduil Opherion?"

"You're not even saying it right!" snapped a voice from inside the closet, laced with a slight accent and a massive amount of malice. "It's Thran. Du. Il. Thranduil. God you Americans don't know anything!"

Straightening up, Bard pushed aside the beads and stepped into the closet. "Holy shit," he couldn't help but say. He could confess, he'd never seen a walk in closet of this size in his life. I swear to God a person could live in here! And throwing clothes into a small black suitcase was one of the most beautiful human beings Bard had ever seen in his life. "Thrand- Thranduil Opherion?" he questioned, attempting at a correct pronunciation.

Thranduil, tossing his blonde hair out of his eyes, scoffed. "Can you say anything else, or is that the limit of your teeny tiny vocabulary?" he sneered, and Bard narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, why did you break into my house." It didn't sound like much of a question, more like an aggressive implication that Bard should leave.

"I didn't break into your house, Mr. Opherion," he began to say, but he found a gold plate being tossed at his head, smacking into the wall with a loud clattering noise.

"Ha, didn't break into my house indeed. My son told you I wasn't home," Thranduil snapped, and Bard glanced behind him to where the plate had dented the wall.

"Yes, but you clearly are home, and lying to police officers is illegal," he explained, and found an ice skate flying past his head this time. He dodged it easily and stared at Thranduil in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, tiny man?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Bard watched for a moment as Thranduil continued to throw clothes at his suitcase, trying to process the fact that he had just been called 'tiny man'.

Shaking his head out of his shock, he opened his mouth. "It looks like you're packing to leave. I actually- um- I need you to come with me to the police station, we have a few question for-" Bard dodged a shoe that was flung at his head, glaring, "Okay you have to stop doing that!"

"I'm not going with you to the police station, whatever you want to ask me you can ask me here," he shot back, and Bard took a step forward. Thranduil laughed curtly, standing up to his full height - good lord he's tall - and waving a hand around at the officer. "What are you doing? Are you threatening me? That's absolutely rich! Look at you, you're so small, you're like a hobbit!"

Bard jerked a thumb over his shoulder, beginning to lose his patience. "The candlestick in your foyer, where did you get it?" he demanded, and Thranduil rolled his eyes heavily, feeling along a shelf for something. "Answer me right now, Mr. Opherion. This is a matter of-"

"Yes, yes yes yes yes okay. Fine, I understand. Want to know where I got it? I got it from my father, it was his mother's," Thranduil snapped, waving his hand about. Bard leaned on the wall behind him, crossing his arms.

"What do you do for a living? I mean you seem to have quite a bit of money."

Thranduil shut the suitcase with his foot and leaned over to zip it up. "I was left all my money by my father," he stated, not looking at Bard. "He was like royalty in Norway."

"That's where you're from, then? Norway?" Bard asked, and he found himself having a dress shirt thrown in his face, Thranduil standing and picking up the suitcase with a scowl.

"Puerto Rico, small person. Get out of my way," he snapped as he shoved past the police officer in his closet. Alright that's the last straw, he growled in his head, whirling around to stop the man leaving the room.

"Yeah no, you're not leaving," Bard told him angrily, grabbing onto his left arm tightly.

Thranduil, much to the other's surprise, sharply inhaled when Bard touched him, tensing up and gritting his teeth. He let out a small squeaking noise, and his hand seemed to be spasming at his side. "L- let go of me," he hissed at the police officer, who pulled his hand away in shock.

"Oh my-" Bard exclaimed, looking down at the hand he had grabbed Thranduil's arm with. It was stained with warm blood. "What the hell!? What happened to you!?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm leaving. LEGOLAS!" he yelled, still sounding a bit shaken from being grabbed. Bard stared after him as he walked out of the room, dragging the suitcase with him. "Legolas we're leaving!"

"No, you can't leave, Mr. Opherion. I'm very sorry, but you're going to have to come with me," the officer shouted, following Thranduil down the hall and jogging down the marble staircase to catch up.

"Legolas! Andale, mi hojito! Vamos a ir! Let's go!" the man continued, snatching various expensive looking objects off shelves and shoving them into a bag hooked onto his suitcase. Thranduil glared into the kitchen through the brightly lit hall, rolling his eyes as he looked for his son. "Dios mio, don't tell me the boy went into the woods again! Legolas, tenemos que ir! We need to leave!"

Bard tailed closely behind him, one hand resting on his gun. "Um, no. You need to come with me to the police station, and we're gonna need to verify-"

Gunfire through the front windows cut off Bard's sentence.

It ceased for a moment, and Bard all but tackled Thranduil to the ground. "Get down, stay down!" he snapped, drawing his gun and peering over the table they had hidden behind. Bard looked through the now broken windows, blinking and breathing hard. There was the sound of footsteps outside, followed by something like air being let out of car tires- oh.

"They just slashed my tires!" Bard hissed indignantly, pouting. Two men came into his line of sight, approaching the windows. "Holy baby Jesus, those are some big guns..." he squeaked as he caught sight of the machine guns the men were armed with. "And big men, big, big men."

Bard ducked back behind the table, back pressed against the leg beneath the drapes. "Mr. Opherion, there is a back door to this mansion, correct?" he demanded in a hushed tone. Thranduil nodded, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. "You have a car?" Another nod. "Alright, we'll try to get out through the back door and come around to your car, we might be able to avoid any more fire."

This time, however, Thranduil shook his head harshly. "We can't leave without my son," he stated, and Bard cursed quietly. The footsteps were getting closer. We're gonna die, we're gonna die...

"Okay, I'm gonna try and talk to them-" Bard began, before Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"You can't talk to these men, they're going to kill you."

"Listen. I'm gonna talk to them, and you're gonna go out the back and see if you can find your son," he continued, and Thranduil stared at him blankly. "Got it?"

"So in other words, you have no idea what you're doing?" he asked dryly, and Bard glared, shoving him by the shoulder toward the small hallway.

As Thranduil began to inch away, hidden by the large entryway table, Bard peeked up toward the windows. Three men were stepping inside, wielding enormous machine guns as well as several other small guns strapped to their bodies. "I'm gonna die..." the police officer whispered to himself, and, without so much as a second's pause, he shot to his feet with both hands raised next to his head. "Don't shoot, don't shoot!"

Bard opened his eyes and allowed his neck to loosen from it's stiffly pulled back position. The men had raised their guns, but they weren't shooting at him. The largest, who was standing on the end closest to the window, narrowed his eyes. "Who're you?" he demanded in what sounded like a Scottish accent.

Letting out a curt, humorless laugh, Bard gave the three large men a nervous smile, all the while leaving his hands up in the air. "I'm uh... I'm Bard. I'm a police officer. You- uh- I think you might've accidentally slashed my tires out there," he said, pointing slightly toward the broken windows. The one in the middle raised an eyebrow, and had it not been such a tense situation, Bard would have laughed at the silly hat he was wearing.

"That was your car?" he asked, and Bard nodded. The largest rolled his eyes, looking over at the one with the hat.

"I told you to look for the pickup truck, Bofur," he groaned, and the middle one - Bofur? - opened his mouth into an O shape. "Oh now you get it, don't you? Pickup truck, how hard is that?"

Bofur closed his mouth and slapped the large one on the arm. "My mistake, Dwalin, my mistake. See I thought you said don't slash the pickup's tires. Suppose it’s too late now, eh?” he stated, and Bard took a mental note of the way he swayed on his feet. Drunk? he thought to himself, or sick? Either way, the man was at an obvious disadvantage.

“Doesn’t matter. What’re you doing in this house?” continued an older looking man from where he stood. Bard looked over at him and rubbed the back of his neck. Do I even need a cover story? Maybe just to be safe? “I’m giving you three seconds to answer, boy.” His gun was raised.

“Gah! Uh, I was here to ask some questions about something!” Bard shouted, throwing his hands up once again. So much for a cover story… He glanced as subtly as he could over his shoulder, and could barely see the edge of Thranduil’s jacket disappearing around the corner. Right. I just need another minute. “Yeah, my boss just sent me down here. I don’t like… live here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, no, not what we were asking. Where’s the owner of this house?” demanded the tallest one. Bard flinched at his angry voice, feeling himself blinking more rapidly than usual. Stop that, you’re gonna give yourself away…

“Owner of the house? You mean T- Thran- sorry, I still can’t pronounce that. Thranduil Opherion?”

"Oh so that's the bloke's name!" exclaimed the white haired one on the left of Bofur. "Well Thorin'll be happy to hear about that! Well... not happy, I suppose, but-"

"Never mind that, Dori. Have ya seen the guy or not, lad?" asked the biggest one, shifting toward Bard ever so slightly. The police officer could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

"Haven't seen him here, no. His son let me in, actually. He said his father wasn't home yet, but he offered- he offered me cookies," Bard lied, eyes flickering backwards to where Thranduil had disappeared. "I was just- I was on my way to the kitchen when- when you all came in." Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the back door was being opened very slowly, and he prayed the three men wouldn't see it. "Or rather- shot your way in."

"What're you looking at, laddie!?" demanded the big one, Dwalin. Bard’s eyes shot back to the three men, and he shook his head.

“Nothing!” he shouted, “Nothing, I just- I thought I saw something- something moving. I’m a bit paranoid, sorry.”

The three men exchanged several looks, before the middle one - Bofur - began to walk forward. “Movin’, you say? We’ll take a look for you! Dori, you mind tellin’ Fili zeta? Thanks,” he said cheerily, and Bard held up a hand to stop him.

“Yeah! No, I mean- you don’t want to do that. There’s a lot of- there’s a lot of cockroaches in there!” he tried to argue, but Bofur was having none of that. Dori, the white haired one, had left the mansion through the front window, leaving Bard with Dwalin and Bofur. “C’mon, man, you really don’t want to go in there.”

“Is there some sort of problem, officer?” Dwalin asked, arms crossed.

“Well… no, but-” Bard began, when he heard a car engine starting from outside, followed by the shocked shouting of a young man. Dwalin turned around to see what the commotion was, and in that moment of distraction, Bard kicked Bofur’s legs out from under him.

The man in the hat was sent crashing to the floor, and Bard swiftly kicked his gun down the hallway, drawing his own gun and dashing into the kitchen. He heard Dwalin shouting angrily behind him, but he ignored it as best as he could and kicked open the already ajar back door. He had just made it out when he heard gunfire.

Covering his head with both his arms - though he knew that wouldn’t do him any good - Bard sprinted around the side of the enormous house and out toward where he could see the brown pickup truck.

Either way, it was his only way to escape now.

Bard threw himself into the passenger's seat, and without a word, Thranduil stomped on the gas petal and the truck flew forward. Bard, not wearing his seatbelt, slammed into the glove compartment, knocking over a bag that was resting precariously on the dashboard. The two men heard gunshots being fired at the truck, and Bard turned to look in the side mirror.

Back at the house, disappearing down the road, were the three men from inside the house, plus another, younger looking man. They threw their guns in the back of their black SUV and climbed inside, ready to follow the pickup truck. Bard braced himself for a quick and painful death.

But for some unknown reason, they didn’t move.

The mansion became lost over a hill, and Bard sat back in his seat, mouth was hanging open. “They didn’t follow us,” he breathed, only now realizing how hard his heart was pounding. “They didn’t kill us. Why didn’t they kill us?” Thranduil looked just as surprised as Bard did, hands clenched on the steering wheel in shock.

“I drained all their gas,” answered a voice from behind them. Bard yelped and whirled around, only to see the boy who had answered the door for him, sitting in the back seat with a smile on his face.

“You what?” Bard asked, eyes going wide. The boy shrugged casually, as if this were something he did on a daily basis.

“Drained all their gas. They can’t move without gas, and it’s a long walk back to the main highway. That should give us… hm,” he counted on his fingers, squinting, “like a four hour head start maybe. Five if you count the fact that they’re scary and probably won’t be able to find a ride.”

Bard was still shocked that the boy had been smart enough to disable the car. He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts, scratching his chin. “Wh- wow. When did you do that?” he asked, and the boy smiled again.

“I saw them pulling up down the road when you went upstairs to find my ada. I went out around back and waited for them to go inside the house,” he explained.

“How did you know they were going to attack us? I mean surely you wouldn’t just disable the car of some random passerby?” Bard asked, and the boy shrank backwards, looking over at Thranduil, who had been listening in the whole time. “Thranduil?” the police officer prompted.

“Legolas is smart enough to know when we’re in danger or not. Stop asking questions,” he snapped, never taking his eyes off the road. “Did you call Miss Tauriel?”

Legolas rolled his eyes, sighing and falling back in his seat. “Yes, I called Miss Tauriel. She said you could drop me at the grafittied octopus,” he said. Thranduil nodded, not taking his eyes off the road. “Ada can I stay with you? I like Miss Tauriel and all, but I’d rather not stay at her weird cabin. She had a boyfriend over last time.”

“I’ll have to discuss the boyfriend with her later. In the meantime do you have your go bag?” Thranduil continued, ignoring his son’s protests. “We should be at the octopus soon. I’ll pick you up tan pronto como me zanja el chico aquí. Sí?” Legolas didn’t answer, and Bard narrowed his eyes. He didn’t speak Spanish, but he had a feeling Thranduil was up to something. “Sí, Legolas? Answer me, hojito.”

“Sí, ada,” the boy grumbled.

“Ah, there’s Tauriel. Legolas, be good,” Thranduil said as he pulled off the highway and onto the side of the road. Standing by a nondescript minivan was a woman, red hair pulled back against her head. She was reading a book, leaned against the car, but as soon as she saw the truck pull up next to her, she grinned.

“Legolas, good to see you again!” she greeted, and the boy ran up to give her a hug. “¿Cómo está, muchacho?”

“Increíble, Tauriel. ¿Y tu?”

“Muy bien, muy bien. Say goodbye to your ada, now, Legolas. We need to get going,” the woman answered, ruffling the boy’s hair and letting him run back to Thranduil.

“Bye, ada. I’ll see you soon,” he said, and Thranduil smiled, putting a hand on Legolas’ shoulder.

“Ser seguro, llame al médico si ocurre algo. Call if something happens.” The boy hugged Thranduil’s legs, the only part he could reach from his place on the ground, before running back to Tauriel. Bard, up until this point, had been far too confused to ask any questions. But now, as Thranduil closed the door and pulled back out onto the highway, he finally managed to say something.

“Hang on, what was that!?” he demanded, and Thranduil gave him a disinterested look. “Oh don’t look at me like that! Why did you leave your kid back there!? Where are we going, anyway!? Pull over, let me drive! I need to take you in for questioning!”

“You’re not taking me anywhere, officer, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d find a place you like so I can drop you off and we can go our separate ways,” Thranduil responded, sticking up his nose. Bard growled and slammed a fist down on the dashboard.

“Absolutely not! I have reason to believe you’ve been involved in the robberies of billionaires across the country!” he shouted. Thranduil scoffed.

“Yes? Well, you have no proof, Mister Boatman,” he stated, and Bard gritted his teeth.

“It’s Bowman, you jackass! Officer Bowman!” in his anger, Bard had pounded his fist down on the dashboard again. This time, however, it was forceful enough to accidentally open the glove compartment. Onto his feet spilled stacks of cash, pearl necklaces, jewels, a strangely crafted golden key, and other things that Bard knew he had seen in the case file.

“Well… shit,” Thranduil sighed, pursing his lips.

Bard’s mouth fell open. This is… this is what’s been stolen… I was right! Oh my goodness I was right! “It was you! I knew it! Alright, Thranduil Opherion, try this on for size. You’re under arrest for the robberies of thirty two high powered billionaires. That’s gonna be an awfully long sentence, bud.”

“You know what, Officer Bowman?” Thranduil spat, glaring at Bard from his seat, “It looks like I have absolutely no way to escape. I’ll come with you, alright? It’s probably my best option right now. Just let me pull over for gas, you can drive after that.”

“Seriously?” Bard asked, eyes wide. This is way too easy. This can’t actually be happening. “You’ll just… turn yourself in?”

Thranduil nodded, shrugging. “Sí. Do I have a better option?”

“Well… I mean… no, but… you’re just gonna let me take you in?” he asked, still confused. Thranduil nodded again, slower this time. “Oh. O- okay.”

The two drove in silence until they reached the gas station, a dinky little place with two pumps and a small convenient store. Thranduil, after pulling up to one of the pumps, climbed out and stretched. “I’m going inside to get a snack. Can you fill it up?” he asked, and Bard glared, holding up a hand.

“No, you’re staying right here where I can see you. Once I’m done filling it up I can escort you inside to get a snack,” he stated, and Thranduil rolled his eyes, leaning against the hood of the truck. Bard began pumping the gas, gaze flitting from the pump to Thranduil every few seconds. Stop checking him out, he’s a high class criminal, Bard snapped at himself.

High class criminal, maybe, but he’s still gorgeous… “Hey, um,” Bard began, and Thranduil turned to look at him. Well damn, the officer nearly gasped, might be the lighting, but those are the absolute bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Ehem, sorry. Is your… is your arm alright?”

“My arm?” Thranduil asked, and Bard blinked several times. He has a beautiful voice, too… stop it Bowman. High class criminal. Right. High. Class. Criminal.

“Yeah, uh- the one- you know, the one that was bleeding earlier? I like… I grabbed you?” he said, and Thranduil laughed, throwing his head back. Dammit, his laugh is even hotter than his voice! Bard didn’t know why he was checking Thranduil out; he wasn’t usually attracted to men, though he did consider himself to be bisexual. It’s just… he’s a criminal!

“My arm is going to be fine, Officer Bowman. Still stings a bit, but only if you… say… forcefully grab it?” he joked, and Bard turned red. “You almost done? I’m hungry and I know for a fact this gas station sells trail mix.”

Bard stopped the pump and pulled it out, turning to pay. “I can pay, it’s my truck,” Thranduil offered, but Bard rolled his eyes.

“What, with a stolen credit card? No thanks, I’m paying,” Bard grumbled, though he was (for some unfathomable reason) pleased to hear Thranduil laugh again. “Alright, I think I trust you enough to be in there for a few seconds without me. I’m gonna pull the truck into a space, I’ll be right in. Do not try anything funny.”

“I won’t, Officer Bowman. Pinky promise,” Thranduil chuckled, waving his pinky finger around at Bard as he walked toward the convenient store Bard rolled his eyes, climbing into the driver’s seat of the truck and closing the door. Okay, yeah. This seat is meant for someone with much longer legs than mine. He spent a minute trying to figure out how to adjust the seat so his feet could reach the petals, and by the time he had managed it, he had almost forgotten that he was leaving a criminal unsupervised in a convenient store.

“Okay, alright. Right,” he muttered to himself, pulling the truck forward and into one of the parking spaces. Bard took a deep breath and nodded, putting it into park and glancing into the store. Thranduil wasn’t doing anything suspicious, just inspecting a rack of gummy bears. Good… that’s good.

A picture taped to the inside of the windshield caught Bard’s attention as he watched Thranduil inside the store. He leaned forward to inspect it closer, narrowing his eyes. It was a family; a man, a woman, and a baby. The man appeared to be a slightly younger version of Thranduil, blonde hair only stretching down to his ears, and if Bard had to guess, he’d say the baby was Legolas.

The woman was beautiful, though the photograph was faded and a bit scratched up, Bard could still see a radiant smiling face and curly blonde hair that stuck out at impossible angles. Is that… his wife? She couldn’t be, though, because Bard hadn’t heard mention of her, or seen her in the house. Unless…

But his train of thought was cut off, because from the rear view mirror, he saw the black SUV they had left behind at the house, pulling into the gas station. “Shit!” Bard hissed, hastily opening the door and stumbling into the convenient store. “Thranduil!” he shouted as he pushed open the doors.

The man whirled around, halfway out the back door for bathroom use. Bard’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God! You’re trying to escape!” he snapped, storming over to Thranduil and glaring. “When we get out of here I’m going to kick your ass!”

Thranduil sighed, rolling his eyes. “Alright, Bowman, what’s got your undies in a twist?” he drawled. Bard, in his anger, had almost forgotten why he came in. Right, we’re going to be killed. Okay.

“The men are back, they’re here at the gas station,” he said, and Thranduil took a deep breath.

“I thought Legolas took out their car?”

“Well apparently he didn’t do a good enough job, because they’re here and from what I saw of the driver, they are pissed,” he growled, and Thranduil sighed in frustration. “Shall we head out now?”

“I think that’s probably in our best interest-” Thranduil began to say, but gunfire cut him off. The clerks screamed and the two other customers dropped to the ground in terror. Not in public, this can’t happen in public! Someone’s going to get hurt… Bard groaned in his mind. He peered over the racks of food and saw that two of the men had come in from the front. Which means the other two are probably… “Bowman, there’s two others coming in from the back, I just saw them.”

“Right, there goes our escape plan,” he groaned, grabbing Thranduil by the hand and lightly walking toward the corner. “You stay here, I’ll see if I can find another way ou-”

More gunfire and screaming cut him off, and he realized that Thranduil had disappeared from beside him. Where did he… “Thranduil!?” he said, a bit too loudly. It caught the attention of the two who had just entered from the back door. The younger one, who Bard never learned the name of, raised his gun to fire. “Shit!”

But the shots wound up somewhere in the ceiling, because the blonde hit man had been taken to the ground by Thranduil. The other one, Bofur, Bard recalled, received a swift kick to the head, sending him flying into the wall. “What the hell!?” Bard breathed, before he found himself fortunately dodging a shower of bullets from the burly man, Dwalin.

Bard ran across the refrigerators lining the wall, finally managing to dive into one of the small aisles, drawing his own gun. There was a young woman and her son crouched near to where he had landed, terror stricken on their faces. Bard raised a finger to his mouth and gave her a small reassuring smile (though he was pretty sure that only scared her more).

He stood up, still stooped over, and glanced through the snacks at the men. Dwalin and… Dori, I think it was. Bard raised his gun so it was only barely in their line of sight, and fired off three shots.

“Ah!” shouted the big one, Dwalin.

That was evidently the only shot Bard had landed from his vantage point, because Dori opened fire on the rack immediately afterward. The woman and her son screamed again, covering their heads and flattening themselves against the floor. Bard slid out of the aisle and moved to fire again.

However, a foot landed itself in his side, and he was thrown to the ground. Bard jumped to his feet just as he was punched in the stomach, followed by a head slamming itself into his own. He looked up as he fell, the room spinning, and saw the blonde hit man he still didn’t know the name of. Fili, was it?

Either way, the hit man raised his gun. Bard reacted on hazy instinct and flung his own gun up, firing off… one? Three? However many shots he fired, one of them landed square in the hit man’s side, because he was taken to the ground.

Bard scrambled to his feet, the world beginning to come back into focus, and he kicked the blonde’s gun away from him. He raised his own gun, ready to fire at Dwalin and Dori again, but found that the rest of the convenient store had gone silent, save for the whimpering of the bystanders.

“What the hell…” Bard muttered, walking slowly back toward the entrance. What he found there shocked him. Both of the men had been knocked unconscious, guns nowhere to be seen. This is weird… he thought to himself. But he had no chance to investigate further, nor apologize to the young worker for the gunfight, because he heard the engine of Thranduil’s truck revving.

The officer burst out the front door, stomach still sore from where he’d been punched, and he ran at the truck, waving his arms about. “Hey! You can’t just leave!” he yelled, holstering his gun as Thranduil moved to pull out. “Ugh, get back here! If you run you have no chance at a fair trial!”

But the truck didn’t stop. Bard growled and sped up his pace, rolling up his sleeves and clenching his fists. The truck reached where he could merge back onto the highway, waiting for an open spot to pull out. Before he had a chance, though, Bard flung himself into the bed of the truck, rolling and hitting the sides hard.

Just in time, too, because Thranduil flew out of the gas station parking lot far faster than was probably safe. Bard was thrown backwards, hitting his head on a wooden box as he rolled toward the back of the bed. “Dammit! Agh!” he spluttered, trying to get a stable grip. Thranduil changed lanes, increasing the speed.

Bard was thrown against the other side of the bed, this time his uniform shirt ripping against a loose nail from another box. They hit a pothole, which sent Bard flying up in the air with a high pitched scream, and he landed back in the bed on his shoulder, wind knocked out of him.

Somehow he managed to find a decent hand hold on the side of the bed, this time, and he used it to crawl his way toward the window in the back. Bard wrenched himself upright and yanked the window open, using the slot to get a good grip.

“What the hell!?” Thranduil snapped, swerving slightly. Bard slid along with everything else in the bed, but kept his grip. “Santa puta mierda, what is your problem!?”

“I need… to take… you back to… ugh! The station!” Bard shouted over the wind, struggling not to be thrown out of the bed. “Listen, I’m… your best… shot!”

Thranduil laughed, pushing at Bard with the hand not on the steering wheel. “Best shot indeed! Pretty sure skipping town and never laying eyes on your face again is my best shot!” he responded, and Bard pulled himself further through the window.

“Those… those men back there… they’re… agh! They’re gonna find you! And… oof! And they’ll… they’ll kill you!” he yelled, almost falling when he was shoved by a window scraper.

“I’d rather be tracked down by them than go to prison with you,” he spat, finally giving up on trying to push Bard off his truck.

“What about… your son?!”

Thranduil swerved off the highway suddenly, throwing Bard backwards. He had gone down a smaller turnoff from the part of the highway he had been on before, zooming past the few cars and finally onto one of the empty country roads leading to Sonoma Valley. Where is he going? Bard wondered, rubbing his head and sitting up in the bed.

The truck came to a halting stop on the side of the road, sending Bard crashing into the window he had just been holding onto. Thranduil opened his door and climbed out, slamming it shut and stalking around to the bed.

“Take my truck and all the evidence, whatever!” he shouted, pulling a suitcase over the side of the bed from next to Bard. “But I’m leaving! Fuck you and fuck off! Have a good day, Officer Bowman!”

Thranduil dragged his suitcase behind him, storming away from Bard and the truck down the road. “Where are- where are you going, exactly?” the officer called, raising an eyebrow as he clambered out of the bed. The blonde didn’t look back, he just raised his middle finger.

“Away from here!” he yelled over his shoulder.

Bard sighed, rolling his eyes and shrugging. “Alright, whatever! Walk away if you want! I still have to take you in, though! So come back or I’ll have to detain you with force!”

“Fuck off!” Thranduil responded.

“Your choice…” Bard muttered, breaking into a run. He caught up with Thranduil quickly; the man was only walking, and he grabbed him by the wrist. “C’mon. I’m your best shot at getting out of this alive, okay? Come with me, turn yourself in, and you might have a chance of a fair trial. Walk away and you’ll probably end up dead.”

Thranduil stopped, turning to look at Bard. “I handled myself fine in that gas station. If anybody’s in danger, it’s you,” he said coldly, yanking his arm free of Bard’s grip.

“You- that was you? I mean I saw you kick the one guy, but the other two too?” the officer exclaimed, following the man who was trying to walk away from him again. “That was you?”

He whirled around, blonde hair whipping backwards. “Yes! Happy? I’m decent at kicking people, woo hoo! Have a fucking fiesta, Bowman!” he shouted, fists clenched. Bard took a step back, raising his hands defensively.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just impressed, alright? Not everybody has those sorts of skills,” he said, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “C’mon, you’re already injured. They’re gonna gang up on you and you’re gonna die. If you come with me, I can guarantee your safety.”

“You can’t guarantee shit,” Thranduil spat, sneering.

Bard took a firm stance and turned the blonde by his shoulder, staring up into his eyes with determination. “Listen, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. You’re coming with me one way or another, but if you come willingly it’ll be a lot better for you, alright?”

“Um…” asked an unfamiliar voice. Thranduil and Bard both looked to the left, surprised, only to see an old man in a straw hat, white beard on his dark face. “Is that… your truck?”

The two turned around just in time to see the truck tipping over the edge of a long hill, which Thranduil seemed to have parked on the edge of. “Puto cubos de mierda, mi dios!” the blonde cursed, a hand flying to his forehead. “Mierda!”

The truck rolled four times before coming to a crashing halt on it’s side. After a long moment of silence, Thranduil glared at Bard. “You still my best shot?” he hissed.

“If we can get the truck out of that ditch, yeah I am.”

* * *

 “I should be driving, asshole,” Thranduil huffed, arms crossed. Bard rolled his eyes, trying to focus on the road. “It’s my truck.”

“Yeah, and it’s also your fault that it rolled down a fucking hill. And you know what? We wouldn’t even have the truck if it weren’t for me and that cow! I still can’t believe you convinced that poor farmer to let us stay the night,” he snapped. Thranduil shrugged, inspecting his nails.

“We both needed to sleep. Besides, I had to bandage my arm. Somebody opened the wound back up when they grabbed it,” he hissed.

Bard ignored him, taking a deep breath. “I need to get you to the police station, alright? My kids have been alone with their aunt for too long. So quit complaining,” he responded. Thranduil fell silent, sneering and essentially punching the radio on.

“Ugh, no,” he grumbled as something by Justin Bieber came on. He flipped through the channels, scoffing at every single one, and Bard rolled his eyes. His brow furrowed, however, as he heard a snippet of a news report on one of the channels.

“Hang on, wait. Go back to that last one,” he snapped, and Thranduil flipped back one. “No, it was before that, keep going. Yeah- STOP!”

“The suspects, a blonde male in his late thirties and Officer Bard Bowman of Sacramento PD, were last seen fleeing from a gas station near the highway,” said the voice of a woman on the radio. “At the moment, they are said to be armed and very dangerous. Witnesses say they may have been working with the hit men who we have not yet received descriptions on. Once again, if you see either of these men, please call into the police hotline immediately.”

Bard’s mouth had fallen open in shock. “We- we’re what!? We’re wanted? Armed and- what the hell!?” he stammered. Thranduil shrugged.

“Well,” he drawled, “I suppose it would now be in our best interest to flee, would it not?” Bard’s hands had clenched so tight around the steering wheel that his knuckles were turning white. “Officer Bowman? Are we fleeing? Because you’ll need to take the next right if you want to get to Tauriel’s cabin.”

“No,” Bard stated flatly, “We are not fleeing. I’m still taking you back to the police station. I’ll explain myself, I’ll turn you in. It’ll all work out.”

Thranduil sighed, long and heavy. “Whatever you say, Officer Bowman. Now tell me, where exactly are you going to start with the explaining? Hm? I think perhaps you should start with the hit man deal, eh? Or perhaps the escaping with a high class thief? I’d be very fascinated to hear your ‘explanation’,” he smirked. Bard’s heart hammered in his chest.

“First of all, my explanation will be short and simple-”

“If you can get that many words out from your holding cell,” Thranduil interrupted.

Bard clenched his teeth, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “And I’d like to know why those hit men are after us in the first place!” he hissed, face turning red. “People don’t just get hunted down by professionals every day! Who are you!? What- what the hell!? I’m just so confused!”

Thranduil, instead of answering, sat up straighter. “Turn off here. Now!”

For some reason, Bard did as he was told, swinging the truck off the main road and down a smaller one. He bounced them both upward over a rock, making his heart leap, and he glared at Thranduil with malice. “Why did I have to turn?” he demanded. The blonde looked down at his phone and up at the road once again, narrowing his eyes.

“An old friend lives up here,” he said simply. Bard rolled his eyes.

“We are not staying at Tauriel’s house- or cabin, or whatever,” he sighed, but Thranduil waved his hand around, shaking his head.

“Tauriel lived down the last exit. This is the next best place I can think of,” he told Bard, who was still glaring at him suspiciously as he drove. I recognize this road, though I don’t know why… he thought to himself, narrowing his eyes at the surroundings. “Next left, there we are. It’s just a bit further up the road.”

“Care to tell me who this ‘old friend’ is?” Bard asked, but Thranduil didn’t respond. They drove for another minute in silence, until they came upon a small, run down house with a tiny car parked in front. “Have I been here before?”

“No clue. Park around back, behind that bush,” Thranduil responded, and Bard did as he was told. Though I have no clue why I’m listening to him. “C’mon, get out, let’s go.”

Bard rubbed the bridge of his nose, unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out of the truck. As soon as he had closed the door, he found a suitcase being thrust into his arms. “Um, excuse me? Why are you giving me this?” he demanded as Thranduil started off toward the house.

“Did I not make that clear? I want you to carry it for me,” he stated. Bard made no attempt to protest; he was too busy focusing on not having a panic attack. “Move it, come on. Even if the likelihood of police presence in this area is slim I don’t want you stalling. Vamos, tiny man.”

Bard sighed, making his way toward the back door of the house with Thranduil’s suitcase in tow, and squinted when he saw the familiar porch setting. I’ve certainly been here before… The blonde in front of him knocked sharply on the door three times, crossing his arms and waiting. After a moment, a round face framed by curly hair came into the doorway.

“Thranduil?” he asked, smiling slightly. Bard’s jaw dropped open, and the suitcase he had been holding fell to the ground.

“Bilbo!” he exclaimed, and the small man turned to look at him. His eyes went wide, and he leaned forward.

“Bard? Heavens, what are you doing with this scum?” Bilbo asked, scoffing when Thranduil made an offended noise. “No offense, dear, but you did rob my house.”

“Yes, yes. But I apologized. May we come in?” he demanded, rolling his eyes, and Bilbo nodded furiously, opening the door and ushering them into the kitchen.

“Of course! Come in, come in. I know you of all people wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need something, so out with it. You can set that luggage down here, that’s a good lad. Thranduil, answer my question,” he said as he shut the door and turned on the kitchen light.

Taking a seat on the arm of the couch, Thranduil picked at his nails. “We need a place to lay low until Officer Bowman over here can figure out a way to reason with his police friends. He’s become a criminal now, and it’s rather amusing. Can’t imagine he’s ever done anything against the law before.”

Bilbo turned to look at Bard, placing a hand over his heart. “You did something against the law!?” he asked, voice filled with mock astonishment. “My goodness, Bard. That is unheard of. And Thranduil, please do note the sarcasm in my tone. Bard is awful when it comes to following rules. Let alone laws.”

“Really? You?” Thranduil asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t seem the type.”

Smirking, Bilbo opened his mouth to speak again. But before he managed to start off on some story of how Bard had broken the law, he was cut off. “It was a few times in college. Listen, Bilbo, I’m not even really sure why we’re here,” Bard said, glaring over in Thranduil’s direction.

“I explained to you already. Several times. We’re hiding from the police and some mob men, nothing big. If you wanted, I’m sure Bilbo could drive you up to your house to retrieve your children. Though if you went back you’d definitely be putting them at risk. We’ll probably just need to stay a few weeks, they won’t miss you,” he stated. Bard’s mouth fell open, eyes widening.

“A few weeks!? What about my children!? I can’t just leave them alone! Not… alone, I suppose, Sigrid’s there, but… still! I can’t just stay here!” he shouted. Thranduil rolled his eyes and Bilbo cut back into the conversation.

“I’m afraid if you’ve gotten involved with this idiot, you may have no choice. At one time, this would be much easier. Then of course you had to lose your diplomatic immunity in Russia,” Bilbo scoffed, and Thranduil sighed, sliding down onto the couch. “I can lend you my phone to call your children with, if you please. Tell them you’re on business or the like.”

Bard clenched his fists, resisting the urge to stamp his foot childishly on the tiled kitchen floor. “I can’t just tell them that! What- I can’t- This is all your fault!” he shouted, pointing a finger at Thranduil. “Over the past two days I have been shot at, I have been attacked! I’ve had fucking shoes thrown at my head, and I had to ride a cow to get your stupid truck out of a ditch! And now you have the nerve to tell me that I need to stay in hiding for weeks because of something that you did!? You absolute ass! After all I’ve been through in life you think I deserve this!?”

As the police officer stormed forward, most likely to swing one or two punches, Bilbo jumped forward and grabbed him. “Hey, hey! Bard, calm down. Thranduil, go wait in the bathroom, I’m gonna stitch you up. Don’t give me that look, you brat, I can tell you’re bleeding through your shirt and I don’t want that shit on my couch,” he ordered, and Thranduil sighed, standing up and walking down the hall.

Bilbo turned back to Bard, still holding him tightly by the shoulders. “As for you. Call your kids, go out back and get a breath of fresh air until you’ve calmed down. If you really need it I have a bottle of brandy in the cupboard,” he said in a quieter voice. Bard cast his gaze toward the ground, sighing. “Listen, Bard. I’ve no idea what Thranduil’s put you through the past few days, but he’s a good man, alright?”

“He’s a criminal,” Bard hissed, and Bilbo gave him a light slap to the face. “Ow, what was that for?”

“Call your kids. Stop being a dick,” he stated, pushing Bard toward the phone. “I’ll be in with my number one patient. Thank your mother for convincing you to take French instead of Spanish, you wouldn’t want to know the profanities coming out of that man’s mouth.”

Bard was left standing in shock as Bilbo huffed away, now red in the face, to take care of Thranduil’s wound. Call my kids… right. What am I supposed to tell them? I don’t go away on business! Oh, Sigrid is certainly going to know something’s wrong. This is a disaster. Maybe I should just sneak home… but Bard knew that wouldn’t work. Not with those awful hit men after them.

So he picked up Bilbo’s phone and dialled his home number, slightly irritated by how long it took, who the hell has rotary phones anymore? He waited as patiently as he could while it rang, hoping that Sigrid or someone would pick up. And, after what seemed like eternity, he heard the voice of his youngest daughter.

“Hello?” asked Tilda, voice muffled by the poor quality of the phone. “Who’s this?”

“Tilda?” Bard asked, smiling, “It’s da.”

The young girl’s tone instantly changed, and she gasped. “Da! Why didn’t you come home last night? Bain called you on your phone but you didn’t answer and we were worried! But Mister Alfrid told us you were gettin’ a bad guy when we called! Did you get the bad guy da!?” she demanded, and Bard glanced over his shoulder.

“Dios mierda mios!” he heard Thranduil scream from the bathroom, and he cringed.

“Sort of. Tilda, can I talk to your sister please?” he asked, running a hand through his hair as his heart pounded. Tilda made a small noise of recognition and there was the sound of the phone being passed off to another person. “Sigrid?”

“Da where were you last night? You said you were coming home!” she immediately snapped, and Bard had to stifle a laugh. And he evidently didn’t stifle it enough, because Sigrid made an indignant noise. “Don’t laugh, da! We were all worried sick! When’re you coming home!?”

Bard’s smile fell, and he pursed his lips. “Well, Sig… that’s… I’m actually… not going to be home for quite some time,” he said in the most cheerful voice he could muster. His daughter fell silent for a moment. “Listen, I’m really sorry-”

“Are you safe, da?” she asked in a serious tone, taking Bard by surprise.

“Well- I suppose so, yes,” he began to respond, but Sigrid cut him off again.

“Then it’s okay. I can take care of Bain and Tilda until you get back.”

Bard could feel his chin quivering and he willed himself not to cry. “You- you’re a bit too calm about this,” he said, giving a half-hearted chuckle. Sigrid sighed.

“Da, don’t think I don’t remember what happened to ma. You can fool Bain and Tilda but I was already ten. I just want you to stay safe,” she said firmly, and Bard bit the inside of his mouth, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. “Da?”

“Staying safe, darlin’. I love you,” he responded, blinking rapidly. “Could you put your brother on the phone please?”

“Of course, da. Just a second, they’re both in the other room. I love you,” Sigrid told him, and Bard took a deep breath, clenching his jaw as the phone was handed to his son. After a moment of talking on the other line, Bain’s voice came over the speaker.

“Hey da! Sigrid said you were gonna be out of town for a little while, right?” he asked, and Bard chuckled, scratching his eye and nodding. 

“Yeah, Bain. I’m doing something for business. You keep the girls safe, alright?” The sigh that emitted from the speaker was monumentally sarcastic. That’s my boy… “Bain.”

“I’ll keep the girls safe, da. Whatever that means. Can I have Morley over this weekend?” he asked, and Bard grinned.

“Of course you can, Bain. Be good. I love you,” he said, and Bain groaned.

“Whatever, da. Love you too. Here’s Tilda.”

Bard barely got a moment to compose himself before Tilda had come back on the line. “You’re not coming home?” she asked sadly. “But da, we miss you!”

“I miss you too, muffin. And I love you so, so much,” he told her. Tilda huffed out a disgruntled sigh. “I’ll be back soon, don’t worry. It’s just work.”

“I love you, da. Come home soon, okay?” she sighed, and Bard nodded to himself.

“I will. Love you. Bye.”

He put the phone down on it’s hook, untangling himself from the cord, and took a deep breath with his hands on the countertop. Come on, Bowman, don’t do this, he thought to himself as he blinked back tears. It isn’t as if you’re never going to see them again. Stop being such a drama queen.

But it was too late now, the tears had fallen out of his eyes and were sliding down his face, dripping off his chin. He choked back what he could and wiped at his cheeks, taking a shuddering breath. Keep them safe, he reminded himself, you’re keeping them safe.

“Bard?”

Bilbo’s voice made him turn around, furiously trying to make himself look as if he hadn’t been crying. “Yeah, Bilbo?” he asked. The small man pointed down the hall with a gentle smile on his face.

“Bedroom on the left, there’s a dresser. Some of my boyfriend’s old clothes if you want a change. Can imagine you’re tired of that fancy getup,” he said in a caring tone. “As soon as Thranduil’s done with the shower you can use it, and the same bedroom’s got two beds. You can both stay in there if it’s alright. Wish I had more rooms.”

Bard smiled at him, wiping his eye with the palm of his hand. “Thanks, Bilbo,” he muttered, and the man nodded, walking toward the back door. “Where are you going?”

“To disguise your bloody truck a bit better. I don’t want the cops coming around here only to be tipped off by Thranduil’s bad parking,” he scoffed, opening the door and sliding out. Bard chuckled humorlessly, standing and walking back toward the bedroom.

Bilbo’s house was nice; one floor, well furnished and well decorated. Even if it was a bit old for Bard’s taste, he could appreciate the warm feeling it gave him. He ran his fingers along the wall in the hallway, swinging around the corner and into the bedroom Bilbo had told him to go into.

It was small, much like everything else in the house, with two beds pushed against opposite walls. There was one dresser in the corner, as well as a lamp and a night table with an alarm clock sitting on top. Bard let out a long breath, wiping his eyes again and sitting on the bed closer to the window.

He pulled off his tie, tossing it on the pillow as he kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. After a moment of pondering, he stripped off his shirt entirely, taking another deep breath through his nose. The shower was running, he could hear it from down the hall, along with something else. What the hell… he thought to himself, narrowing his eyes and sitting up straighter. Is that… is Thranduil… singing!?

Bard stood up and headed back down the hallway, toward the shower door, stopping when he came in front of it. Oh yes, he’s definitely singing… and that sounds like the best hits of the forties. Bard lifted a fist and banged on the door as loudly and obnoxiously as he could, smirking when the singing stopped. “Thranduil!” he yelled.

“What!?” came the response, incredibly annoyed.

“Would you mind keeping it down in there? Not that I don’t love Sinatra, but you’re a bit off pitch!” he taunted. Bard knew it was childish, trying to get back at him, but he couldn’t help it. I suppose it’s always been in my nature…

“Fight me, Bowman!” Thranduil snapped, and Bard rolled his eyes. “Right here, right now, I’ll kick your ass with a bar of soap in my hand!”

He probably wasn’t being serious, but Bard didn’t care. He’ll be embarrassed anyway, it’s a win-win situation for me. “I’d like to see you try, Opherion!” he shouted back, pushing the door open and storming into the steam-filled bathroom. “Fight me, let’s go!”

Much to Bard’s surprise, Thranduil wrenched back the shower curtain, armed with a bottle of shampoo. The police officer’s mouth fell open. Thranduil had an absolutely gorgeous physique, under all those ridiculous clothes. He was toned and muscular and shockingly tan, and not to mention- “You’re naked.”

Unfortunately for Bard, those words actually came out of his gaping mouth. Thranduil gave him a ridiculous look, raising an eyebrow. “Excellent observation, Officer Bowman. I do, indeed, shower naked. Really, I should be- well- I should be questioning you, walking around Bilbo’s house shirtless! H- have you no decency!?” he stammered, and Bard found himself shocked. Is Thranduil… blushing!?

“Says the man in all his glory with no shame!” Bard shot back, hoping he wasn’t turning as red as he felt. Thranduil turned slightly away from him, embarrassment slipping onto his face, and it was then that Bard noticed faded burn scars across his left shoulder and down his torso. “I mean- no, I wasn’t- you’re gorgeous, I didn’t mean to insult you, sorry!”

Bard didn’t exactly know why he was apologizing, seeing as he had been taunting him not a moment before, but he felt the need to nonetheless. Thranduil made a face, mouth falling open. “What?!” he asked, sounding shocked. “I mean- I know I’m gorgeous, but what!?”

“What what? I was just- I was apologizing, nothing else!” Bard defended himself, looking away from Thranduil and toward the toilet. Ah hell, you’re red as a tomato, Bowman… “Why are you staring at me!?”

“You wanted to kick my ass into seven hells like… two minutes ago! Why are you saying I’m gorgeous!?” he demanded, standing up straighter and crossing his arms.

“Because you are!” Bard shouted, clenching his fists at his sides. Oh great, you’ve dug your grave now… “And I still want to kick your ass!”

Thranduil had relaxed a bit, no longer holding the shampoo bottle threateningly, and he narrowed his eyes at Bard. There was a long moment of tense silence as the two glared into each other’s eyes, before he tossed his hair over his shoulder with a smirk. “You want to fuck me,” he stated.

Bard’s eyes went wide, and his heart seemed to drop out of his chest. “I- I what!? Where did you- I don’t- you don’t even-” he stammered, trying to defend himself, but to no avail. “I do not want to fuck you!”

“Then porn has lied to me,” Thranduil sighed, shrugging. “Lo que se. Go on, get out of here. I’d like to finish showering if there’s nothing exciting to do.” He turned to the wall, leaving Bard speechless, and didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You aren’t leaving?”

“I mean- well-” Bard tried, cut off by Thranduil’s smug smirk. He pursed his lips, shoulders tensing up. “I may sort of want to fuck you. But… it’s like… I don’t like you, okay? You’re an asshole. But like- you’re a hot asshole, right? So it has, I guess, crossed my mind that we could- well- I don’t- yes, Thranduil, I want to fuck you.”

* * *

“Bard?” Bilbo called as he dusted his pants off, walking down the hall in confusion. “Bard are you still here?”

The shower wasn’t running anymore, but the small man couldn’t hear voices from anywhere in the house. Oh dear, tell me one of them hasn’t murdered the other, this would be a disaster. “Bard!?” he shouted, a bit more frantically, “Thranduil!?”

“Yes, sorry, we’re in here!” Bard responded, stumbling out of the bedroom as he combed through his wet hair. Bilbo noted that he had taken up the offer of borrowing clothes, seeing as he was currently wearing a pair of blue pajama pants that weren’t his. “Sure did take you long enough to hide Thranduil’s truck.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “As if you were any help, getting it all stuck in my bushes!” he scoffed indignantly. “Is Thranduil in there?”

“Yeah, he’s reading,” he said, tossing the comb back to Bilbo. “I’m gonna take a nap, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, sure. Go ahead. Just make the bed when you’re done sleeping, I like to keep it orderly around here,” Bilbo agreed, waving the other man off and walking back toward his kitchen. Behind him, he could hear Bard and Thranduil bickering about something or another, and he sighed.

This is going to be a long stay…

* * *

“I just want to see my children again!” Bard cried, fists clenched at his sides, “My entire life is ruined because of you!”

Bilbo had gone out to the grocery store, leaving the two men alone in his house, and Bard had managed to start a fight within that small amount of time. Thranduil glared at him, icy eyes on fire. “Why can’t we ever have a conversation without you trying to pick a fight!?” he shouted.

“Because I miss my family! I want to go home, Thranduil! You might be okay with this, but I’m not, okay!? I actually love my children! Unlike some people here!” Bard snapped back, not trying to hide the fact that he was crying this time. The blonde’s face contorted with anger, and he took a step away from Bard.

“Don’t tell me I don’t love my family!” he hissed.

“Well it doesn’t seem like you do! A whole week we’ve been here, I haven’t heard you call Legolas once! What kind of father does that!?” Bard yelled, taking another step toward Thranduil, who backed away again. “You don’t care, admit it! You don’t care about your son, and you don’t care about your family, you don’t care about anything!”

“Stop it!” the blonde demanded, clenching his jaw, “Stop saying that!”

“Well you don’t, do you!? You didn’t tell me you were married, either! I usually like to know whether or not I’ll be helping someone cheat before I fuck them in a shower!” he continued, and Thranduil shook his head aggressively.

“It’s not like that, you’ve got the wrong idea-” he began to shout, but Bard cut him off once again.

“What, the ring on the nightstand wasn’t your wedding ring!? Well it’s awfully fancy for just a normal ring!” he snapped. Thranduil now had tears in his eyes, and he took a step toward Bard, deciding to go on the offensive.

“It was my wedding ring, if you would let me talk!” he bellowed, but Bard pushed him back by the shoulders.

“No! I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say!” he said, storming past the taller blonde and slamming the bedroom door shut. Thranduil whirled to follow him, to shout at him more for disrespecting him like that, but stopped when he heard the man crying. It was quiet crying, not loud or angry or obnoxious. It was… small, and scared.

Thranduil brought a hand up gently to knock on the door, opening it before Bard could respond. He found the man inside, curled into a ball on his bed, glaring at the wall with tears in his eyes. “I said I was done talking, Thranduil,” he said coldly, voice crackling.

“She’s dead,” he responded, and Bard’s face fell slack. He turned his head slightly, looking over at the blonde in the doorway.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry,” he began to say, but the words caught in his throat. “M- my wife… well… she died too.”

Nodding solemnly, Thranduil took a seat on the end of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he said. Bard gave him a half-smile and scratched the back of his neck. Neither of them spoke for a long while, staring off into space as they sat beside each other. Eventually, Bard took a deep breath and looked back toward Thranduil.

“Her name was Marie,” he smiled sadly, and Thranduil smiled back.

“Erin. Her name was Erin,” he responded. “How did- I mean if you don’t mind me asking… how did it… happen?”

Bard let out a long breath of air, stretching out his legs on the bed and resting his back against the wall. “Long story, but my wife and I were involved in some… bad stuff, even after the first two were born. Came with our work as detectives at the time, you know? And I mean… I told my kids she died while she was giving birth to my youngest, but…”

“That’s not true,” Thranduil finished for him.

“No, it’s not. She went into hiding and was found dead two weeks later in an alleyway. Shot three times in the back of the head,” he stated, as if reading from a report. “I had to stop investigating stuff like that after. I thought being a plain old cop would be easier than a homicide detective… look where that got me.”

Thranduil chuckled dryly, nodding in agreement. After another moment of lingering silence, Bard tilted his head. “You? I mean… if you don’t mind.”

“It was a fire,” he stated plainly, bitterly. “My fault, too. I was drinking, getting cocky. I called somebody bad on the phone with some real mean things to say to them in Spanish.”

“You couldn’t just say mean things in English?” Bard asked, and Thranduil snorted humorlessly once again.

“Trust me, it’s much meaner in Spanish,” he said with a chuckle, before his gaze darkened and his eyes went cold. “They set our house on fire.”

Bard’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

Thranduil didn’t look at him, just picked at a string on his shirt. “I got Legolas out, we were lucky. I went back in for her-” he pursed his lips, shaking his head. “I guess the rest is history, eh?”

“That’s horrible,” Bard said quietly, and Thranduil gave him a light slap to the shoulder.

“You say that like your wife wasn’t shot to death in an alleyway.”

Bard almost found himself laughing at that comment. “I suppose we’ve both suffered enough loss for a lifetime. What about those hit men? Why are they after us in the first place?” he asked curiously, and Thranduil shook his head. “You know what? If we’re gonna be stuck here because of your bad choices, I want to know why. What did you do?”

“I stole from them,” Thranduil stated plainly, not trying to hide the smug grin on his face.

“You mean like you stole from all those other billionaires?” Bard asked, remembering suddenly why he’d gone to collect the man in the first place. “You stole from hit men? And you thought that was a good idea!?”

“Hey, they stole from me first!” he argued, and Bard raised a skeptical eyebrow. “There was a necklace that belonged to my wife. White gems, she used to wear them all the time. They were taken during the fire. I went to get them back.”

“And now they’re trying to murder you!? Who are these guys!?” he exclaimed. Thranduil sighed, pursing his lips.

“Ever heard of Thorin Oakenshield?”

Bard’s stomach dropped, and he could feel the blood draining from his face. “They work for Thorin Oakenshield?” he demanded, and Thranduil nodded. “As in the Thorin Oakenshield?”

“I take it you know him?” he asked. Bard took a deep breath.

“Yes, I do. He’s the one we were trying to take down when my wife was killed.”

* * *

“Any tens?”

“Ve pez.”

“Asshole.”

“You’re just jealous that I’ve won the last four rounds we’ve played,” Thranduil mocked as Bard glared at his hand of cards. “Do you want to do something else? Go fish got old last week. I’m thinking hearts.”

Bard fell back on his bed, massaging his eyes with his fingertips. “I still don’t know how to play hearts, Thrand. You do know that, right?” he sighed. Not like you haven’t had long enough to teach me, we’ve been here almost three months now, he wanted to comment. But he held his tongue, instead rolling off the bed and starting off toward the kitchen.

“Excuse me, where are you going?” Thranduil demanded, crossing his arms. Bard raised an eyebrow, turning and leaning against the doorway. “You’re not going to leave me stranded with all these fucking go fish cards, are you!?”

“It isn’t like you can’t get up and come with me. I’m getting food. And if you make one more excuse about your arm hurting I will not speak to you for a week,” Bard chuckled, continuing toward the kitchen as Thranduil complained behind him. He’d made a few calls to his children over the past few months, having to come up with more and more painful excuses for why he wasn’t home yet.

Thranduil had spoken to Legolas once since they’d come to Bilbo’s house, and it almost made Bard sad. But Thranduil had explained his relationship with the boy, how they communicated in a less vocal way than most parents and children.

He looked out the window, at the sun setting over the horizon as he filled a cup with coffee and set it down on the countertop. It’s nice living here… he considered, but I want to go home…

A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts.

Bard’s posture straightened out and he narrowed his eyes at the doorway, feeling around one of the drawers for his gun. When he found it, he brought it up and walked back toward the bedroom as quietly as he could. The knocking persisted. Bard moved faster, swinging around the corner into the bedroom.

He didn’t say anything to Thranduil, he just put a finger to his lips to make sure he’d stay quiet, before turning and going into Bilbo’s bedroom. Damn, it’s not him… Bard cursed to himself, seeing that the small man was asleep on his bed. “Bilbo,” he whispered as quietly as he could.

“What?” came a tired response.

Bard glanced over his shoulder nervously, hand clenching tighter around his gun. “There’s someone at the door. The back door.”

“Shit,” Bilbo grumbled, sitting up and tossing his blanket aside. “You and Thranduil wait by the window near your truck, just in case you have to run. I’ll take care of this.”

The small man pushed past Bard and headed for the back door, tightening his robe around him. Bard stepped into his and Thranduil’s room and gestured for him to follow. The man slid off the bed and silently walked behind him, toward the window in Bilbo’s room. In the kitchen, they could hear the door opening. “Of course, love, come in!” Bilbo was saying. Right, so it isn’t cops.We’re safe, good.

“Bilbo, you’ve never made coffee before, have you?” asked whoever it was at the door. Bard didn’t recognize the voice, but one look at Thranduil’s face and he knew who it was. Thorin Oakenshield. “Is there someone else in the house?”

Bard pulled a face and hurried to the window, wrenching it open and sliding out. Thranduil was right behind him, shutting the window and trying not to make too much noise. “Dios mios, how did he find us?” he whispered as they snuck toward the brown truck Bilbo had hidden for them.

“I don’t think he did. Man, it would’ve been nice if Bilbo had mentioned his boyfriend is the guy who’s trying to kill us!” Bard sighed, pulling several branches apart so he could access the driver’s side of the vehicle. “C’mon, get in. We’ll have to thank Bilbo later. God, I can’t believe we’re on the run from a mob boss and the police.”

Thranduil chuckled as he climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Go big or go home, I suppose. Just one or the other may have gotten boring,” he said. Bard rolled his eyes, praying that the engine wouldn’t die or something, and almost smiled when it started up.

“Alright, let’s hope this thing isn’t broken in some other way,” he sighed, pulling out of the makeshift bush garage Bilbo had piled up on top of it. He turned the truck until it was in the right direction, and zoomed out onto the road as fast as he could. They drove for several minutes in silence, glancing out the back window every few minutes to make sure they weren’t being followed.

After a while, Thranduil took his cell phone out of his pocket. Bard glanced over at him with narrowed eyes. “Thrand, what are you doing?” he asked as the man dialled a number. “You’ve had that with you the whole time? And I’ve been using the rotary phone!?”

“It’s for emergencies. Like now, for instance. Hola, si. Necesitamos una libertad bajo fianza y una coartada, ¿tiene que cubrirse?” he said, and it took Bard a moment to realize he was speaking Spanish to whoever was on the phone. “Si, si, grandes, tal vez tendríamos que si los policías detrás de nosotros reconocer las placas.”

Okay, I recognized some of that. “What police?” he demanded, looking sideways at Thranduil, who jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Gracias, eres un santo,” he finished, ending the call and letting out a long sigh. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I suppose. You saw the cop that started trailing us when we got on the main road?”

Bard cursed again in his head, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “How are we planning on getting out of this one?” he asked, nervously glancing at the man in the passenger's seat. “This probably isn’t the time to use your karate kid stunts. Attacking a police officer won’t look good if we end up arrested.”

“Just keep driving, try not to look too suspicious,” Thranduil sighed, keeping his eyes trained on the road. However, the next moment, the police car’s lights and siren had turned on, signalling them to pull over. Bard obliged - he didn’t have any other choice - but he stashed his gun under the seat. Maybe there’s a chance we won’t be recognized, maybe it’s been too long since the search started…

No such luck.

“Bard!” greeted a horribly familiar voice, coming from the man standing by the open window. “Why am I not surprised.”

Clenching his teeth, Bard forced a smile and looked over at the man. “Hello, Alfrid. I see you’ve been promoted to highway patrol. What did you do this time? Shine the Master’s shoes? Kick a puppy?” he asked, and Thranduil snorted. Alfrid glared in through the window, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

“You know why I’m here, Bowman,” he hissed. Bard’s heart sped up, and he forced another smile on his face.

“Alfrid you kinky bastard,” he responded, though the wavering in his voice made it a bit less humorous. Thranduil laughed nonetheless, and Bard smirked a little bit. “So what are you pulling us over for?”

“Well I think it’s obvious, Bard. He’s the officer that broke it to the press that we’re on the run, so he knows exactly what’s going on. About how we robbed all those billionaires, attacked those people in the gas station? Need I go on, officer?” Thranduil cut in, smiling. Bard’s mouth fell open.

“Y- hang on, Alfrid, you told the press that we did all that!?” he demanded, and Alfrid grinned smugly. “I mean- Thrand- we didn’t-”

“I’m gonna have to ask you two to come with me.”

* * *

Bard was silent for the majority of the car ride, listening to Thranduil mock Alfrid in Spanish every few minutes. If he hadn’t been so angry, it probably would’ve brought a smile to his face. He and Thranduil had grown close over the past few months, somehow turning from enemies into friends, from friends into… more than friends? I don’t know…

Either way, he was angry with Thranduil for giving up so easily when Alfrid pulled them over. Oh yeah, we robbed billionaires and attacked people and look at me I’m Thranduil and I don’t know how to lie!

The station was just up ahead, and Bard could feel his heart pounding in his chest. There is absolutely no way we’re getting out of this one, I’m never going to see my children again. They parked in front of the station, and were roughly pulled out of the back of the car, pushed toward the doors.

“You know what, Bowman? I knew you were gonna get yerself arrested one day,” Alfrid hissed, looking a little too satisfied with himself. “I’m just glad I was the one who could make it possible.”

Bard was about to respond, most likely digging himself into a deeper hole, when a red haired figure strutted out of the Master’s office, followed by a smaller man with dark hair pulled into a ponytail and a young blonde boy. “Excuse me, I’m going to have to ask you to release these men,” said the woman firmly.

“What?” Alfrid asked, dumbfounded. The woman put her hands on her hips and walked closer, bending down a bit so she was at the officer’s eye level.

“Release these men, immediately. They have been falsely accused,” she stated, and Thranduil smiled, waving at her through his handcuffs.

“Estupendo ver que, Tauriel,” he greeted, but she only glared at him.

“I’m going to have a talk with you as soon as we’re out of here,” Tauriel hissed, before standing up to her full height again, towering over Alfrid. “What are you waiting for? Let them go.”

Shaking his head in confusion, Alfrid stared at her. “I- I’m gonna need some supporting evidence, missy, I’m not just gonna let them go,” he spat.

“I’m afraid you are, Alfrid,” the Master sighed, waddling out of his office as he scratched his behind. “This woman has provided an alibi for the robberies, a solid one at that, and thanks to Mister Durin here… well… they’ve also been cleared for the crimes at the gas station. I don’t know where you got your information-”

“Bastard probably told you we hired those hit men, too,” Thranduil scoffed, and the young dark haired man chuckled.

“Those were my cousins. I’ve already explained that. And I put my uncle at the scene of the robberies too. You guys are safe,” he said with a small smile. Tauriel crossed her arms, glaring down at Alfrid with malice.

“Sounds to me like you were lying, Officer,” she stated, and the Master sighed with disappointment. “Let them go, I’m sure your boss doesn’t want to make a big fuss.”

Alfrid was pulled away from Bard and Thranduil by Percy, who was looking just a bit too happy with the situation. Tauriel took the keys from the Master and removed the two men’s handcuffs with ease, glancing around and putting them in her purse. After a moment of awkward silence, she clapped her hands together and smiled down at the Master. “Well splendid. You don’t mind if I take Mr. Opherion with me now, do you?” she asked.

“Of course not, Ma’am. Go ahead,” he said with a smile, and Tauriel strutted out the door, Kili and Legolas following closely behind her. Thranduil gave a nod to the Master and exited after them, gesturing for Bard to follow.

As soon as they were in the parking lot, Tauriel gave Thranduil a hard push to the shoulder. “You’d better stop giving Kili the evil eye, you would be dead meat without him! If we hadn’t pinned it all on his family I wouldn’t even have an alibi for you! Legolas, get in the car, I need to have a word with your ada,” she snapped, and the boy climbed into her van quietly. “I am expecting triple my pay this month, asking me to pull a stunt like that!”

“How much did you pay the Master to be so nice!?” Bard asked, astonished. Tauriel crossed her arms, looking down at Thranduil.

“We returned some of the items you stole, put it all on Kili’s family. And yes, we payed him. A lot,” she stated, much to Thranduil’s dismay. “Oh don’t give me that look, you fucking diva. You’re loaded to begin with, this isn’t exactly a dent in your bank account. Look, we should really head out. Officers are headed to the last place Oakenshield’s cell pinged, they should have him in custody soon. And you need to call somebody to fix your house. We went up there, it was a disaster.”

Tauriel nodded curtly to herself and clicked over to the driver’s seat of her van, climbing inside. Thranduil sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and Bard gave him a small smile. “Hey, you know, if you want… you can stay at my place until your house is all fixed up?” he offered, and the blonde looked over at him. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind. My kids would love Legolas. He’s just about the same age as my youngest.”

Thranduil smiled at him, nodding a bit. “If it’s alright with you, I think that sounds perfect,” he agreed. Bard laughed quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, Bard?”

“Yeah?” he asked, and Thranduil took a deep breath.

“Are we… I mean… after staying at Bilbo’s for so long, do you think we’re like… a thing?” he asked awkwardly, making Bard grin. “I can’t tell if you’re grinning and mocking me or grinning and saying we are.”

“We are, Thrand. Trust me, we are,” he laughed, not able to help the glowing blush that was spreading across his cheeks.

Thranduil cocked an eyebrow and bit his lip. “So does that mean you don’t want to kick my ass anymore?” he asked, and Bard moved forward, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh no, I still want to kick your ass. But in a more… endearing way,” he said, and Thranduil chuckled, moving to kiss Bard again.

Of course, it was at that moment Tauriel decided to impatiently honk the horn, interrupting them. 


End file.
